


Take My Hand, And Never Be Afraid Again

by flax_wench



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flax_wench/pseuds/flax_wench
Summary: Frank is a naive young man from a small village just trying to save his family; Gerard is a tyrannical king hellbent on inflicting his misery on anyone in his way.





	1. A Quiet Village

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilaHurley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilaHurley/gifts).



> Heyoooo it's been literally a year since I've published anything, so uhh hi everyone!  
> If you look real closely, you'll see this is loosely (VERY loosely) based on Beauty and the Beast. No worries though, no one is a literal beast, and there are no talking tea cups.  
> It takes place in France around the 1700s; if anyone is interested in the inspiration for the castle, just google Château de Chambord.  
> Anywho this'll be about ten chapters, and hopefully will be updated about once a week. Feedback is always loved and appreciated!

In a quiet village nestled in the French countryside lived an old man; his days were pleasant, mostly spent accompanied by his grandson, young Frank. He was the second Frank in his family, and, if the old man knew his grandson as well as he fancied, probably the last. Young Frank carried on endlessly about his distaste for his name, which he shared with his father. And though he loved his father deeply, he wished his parents had taken pity on him and simply given him something that at least sounded a bit more eloquent.

The old man had noticed long ago that his grandson was no longer quite so young. He’d grown into a handsome young man, now on the eve of his twenty first birthday, and was fiercely independent. A lover of the arts, music in particular, kind, and intelligent, Frank was sure to make a fantastic husband for a lucky girl; that was, if Frank could only remove his head from the clouds.

He was tragically oblivious to the attention the girls in the village paid him. Nose stuck in a book, or busy tinkering with his grandfather’s old instruments, Frank showed little interest in romance at all. Which was just as well in his grandfather’s eyes; he treasured getting to spend more time with the boy. Frank’s father, however, was at his wit’s end.

“Should we not encourage him to seek a wife?” Frank walked some paces ahead of them, studying the flowers for sale in the market. “Preferably one from a wealthy family…”

The old man sighed. “So concerned with money. I see age has not shown you what’s truly important, my son.”

“Father,” they stopped, making sure Frank was out of earshot, “I can hardly pay for the three of us to eat, which means money _is_ important. Now I won’t force Frank to marry, but he will have to think of taking a wife soon. I was his age when I met Linda.”

Waving his son off with a dismissive hand, the old man continued to follow Frank. “Give him time. Love doesn’t blossom overnight.”

Frank Sr. was worried about his son for more than romance reasons; he showed no interest in the family business either, and was content to while away his time learning about music or reading a book from the library down the road. He loved to write as well, penning several pieces of music in the last few months. His son was no doubt a talented young man, but how would he take care of the family once Frank Sr. was too old to continue with his clockwork business?

“Make sure he takes care of you when I’m gone,” Frank Sr. said to his father, watching his son study a particularly beautiful bouquet of roses. “I know it’s just for the evening, but you know how aloof he can be.”

“Give the boy some credit, Frank,” his father scoffed. “You act as if he’s heartless.”

He sighed. “No, I know, father. It’s just… I feel uneasy about this trip.”

It wasn’t the first time Frank Sr. had gone to the neighboring town to try and sell his work, and it wasn’t like the conditions would be unfavorable. The autumn weather was breezy and cool, and a light jacket should do the trick. He’d take their horse, Philipe, and if he left soon, he’d be back at nightfall, with more than enough time to prepare to celebrate his son’s birthday. Yet there was something that didn’t sit well with him, a feeling inside that set him on edge. He couldn’t seem to shake it either, and if he hadn’t intended to buy Frank Jr. a birthday gift while in the neighboring town, he would’ve canceled his trip all together.

“All will be well,” said the old man, patting his son on the back and bringing him from his daze. “You should head back to the house, gather your things. You don’t want to be riding alone at night.”

Frank Sr. nodded, pulling his father in for a quick hug. “I’ll be off soon. I’ve got to make it back for Frank’s birthday.”

After saying his goodbyes and sufficiently bothering his son with an unusually high amount of hugs, he gathered his things and headed out with Philipe. The sky was a warm shade of pink, clouds dotting the horizon, making him smile as he jostled atop the horse. The beauty of nature had always calmed him, and he couldn’t help but think to himself that perhaps his father had been right; maybe all really would be well.

*

“Okay, Philipe… just stay calm, boy, stay calm.” At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was talking to the horse or to himself. He knew he should’ve stayed at home, he just _knew it_. “Little faster now, Philipe, it’s been dark for a while now.” They wouldn’t make it home by sunrise at this point.

Of course he’d gotten caught up in the neighboring town. He’d been able to haggle a fair amount of money for his clocks, and had spent a good chunk of it on Frank’s birthday gift. He’d searched high and low for it, but he’d managed to find the best manuscript paper in town, and he knew his son would love it. The trouble was, it had taken him too long to find the gift, and by the time he’d left the town, the sun was already setting. And so, like a fool, he decided to take a shortcut through the forest.

He’d taken the same shortcut a few times before, but never at night. There was no clear path through the forest, no markings, and in the dark everything began to look the same. And once the air began to chill and the wind shook him physically, he finally admitted that they were definitely lost.

In the not-so-far distance, a wolf howled at the moon, causing Philipe to stop in his tracks.

“Come now, boy, you’re okay. Just keep going, we’ll be home soon.”

Philipe trotted slowly, the horse weary and growing tired. If they ran into any wolves, he knew they’d be in trouble; it wasn’t an easy decision to make, but he was coming to the realization that they might have to find a place to stay for the evening. Now if only they could actually find any signs of civilization.

After what seemed like hours, they came upon a clearing in the forest; through the opening in the trees, Frank Sr. saw what could only be described as a castle. Nestled atop a large hill, the castle could only have been described as massive, with towering turrets that reached into the clouds. Made of beautiful white stones and a light blue roof, surrounded by lush gardens and fountains that lead to the front entrance, it was enough to take your breath away.

“This must be the king’s castle,” he mumbled to himself, astonishment lined on his tired features. He’d long heard stories of the beauty of the castle, but seeing it in the flesh had him lost for words.

He didn’t know much of the king. He’d heard stories of the young ruler’s long-dead father, and how beloved he was by his subjects. While his son had kept many of his policies in place, he was rarely seen out of his castle, unlike his father, who’d done his best to make his subjects feel included and loved by their ruler.

There had been many unflattering rumors about the young king. Rumors that he was a tyrant, heartless, that he’d banished his own brother to make sure he didn’t steal his throne. None of these rumors could be confirmed of course, as the king never left his castle. This, as well, started whispers of perhaps the king being malformed, hideously ugly, even a beast, according to the silly stories the young children told one another. He couldn’t let that stop him, though. He and Philipe had been riding nearly all day and night, and desperately needed shelter from the cold.

Dismounting his horse, Frank Sr. secured his belongings and lead Philipe towards the castle. “Come now, boy,” he soothed his tired friend, running a hand over his beautiful mane. “Let’s hope our king is as kind as his father.”

Tired and freezing, Frank Sr. found himself approaching the doors of the castle, the heavily armed guards eyeing him suspiciously. For a moment he pitied them, being out here like this in the cold, before one of them spoke.

“What is your business here, old man?” The taller one practically spat the words at him, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“My horse and I simply seek shelter for the evening,” he pleaded, wrapping his thin jacket around himself as the whipped around him. “We became lost on our way home, and it’s too cold to continue through the night.” The guards looked at each other. “Please, I beg of you, we will be no trouble, I can sleep in the stable with my horse if the king has no room for me.”

The taller guard smirked. “Oh, he has room for you.” He motioned to Philipe as he spoke to his companion. “Take the horse. I’ll show our guest his room.”

*

Frank looked out the window in his small bedroom, the moon hanging high in the sky. He was worried about his father, who’d promised he’d be back at sundown, and it was well past midnight at this moment. He heard his grandfather’s unsteady footsteps heading down the hall towards his room. The door creaked as the old man opened it, and Frank turned to look at him.

“He promised he’d return by now,” he said quietly, anxiety building in his chest.

His grandfather sat on the foot of his bed, his breath labored and his eyes tired. “He’ll return in the morning, Frank. I’m sure he just had to stay in town for the evening. You know he’d never miss your birthday.”

Frank nodded, though he found little comfort in his grandfather’s words. He knew he meant well, but he could see the concern in his tired eyes. His father had never been gone overnight before, especially when he knew Frank’s birthday was the next day.

“I’ll be okay, grandfather. You should go back to bed.” He put a hand on his grandfather’s back, feeling a strange rattle beneath his fingers as the old man inhaled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, fine,” a wet, painful cough escaped his grandfather then, though he tried to cover it with his fist. “Get some sleep, my boy,” his free hand waved at Frank, as if telling him he was fine, it was just a cough. But Frank could still feel the rattle beneath his hand.

Long after his grandfather had left him to sleep, Frank continued to worry about his father. Something didn’t add up; something just felt _wrong._ His father was out there somewhere, and Frank knew he was in trouble.

*

“Please!”

The guard tossed him into the cell like he weighed nothing, his body hitting the cold stones with a resounding thud. He slammed the iron bars behind him, the loud _clank_ reverberating through the dungeon. Cold and helpless, he scrambled to the iron bars and clung to them, calling out to the guard.

“Please, sir! What have I done? Why am I here?”

“Trespassing!” The guard snickered at him, delighting in his grief. “The king won’t be happy about this. I’ll be curious to see how he decides to punish you. Hopefully he’ll let me watch.” He cocked his head and studied their newest prisoner. “Or perhaps he’ll let me dole out the punishment?”

“The king won’t stand for this!” he barked at the guard, mustering up what little courage he could. “He’s an honorable man!”

A cold, sinister laugh bellowed from the guard’s chest, and he shook his head as he walked away. “Ah, to be old and foolish.” Turning back to look at him, they locked eyes, and the guard’s expression became deadly serious. “You truly have no idea.”


	2. Papa

Disinterested eyes stared at him through the iron bars. A striking shade of hazel, they would’ve been warm and inviting, had he not been looking at them through the bars of his cell in the dank dungeon of a castle. No, these eyes were cold, unfeeling, frightening in their lack of empathy; it hit him like a slap in the face that yes, he had been _very_ wrong about the king.

“Why were you trespassing on castle grounds?” His voice was even and surprisingly higher than Frank Sr. expected from such a stern man. “My guards informed me you arrived in the night with your horse and a few meager possessions. What’s your excuse?”

“I… I sought shelter, Your Majesty. My horse and I had been traveling all day, and we were simply lost. We did not intend to trespass.”

“And yet, you did,” with a lilt of his head, he smirked, studying the older man. Black hair framed his delicate features, almost feminine at a certain angle. He was calm, calculating, and one could sense the temper radiating off his body. “Just because one does not intend to commit a crime does not mean one _didn’t_ commit a crime, does it?” Frank Sr. bowed his head, shaking it in defeat. The king clicked his tongue. “Pity. I thought you had a bit of a fight in you.”

The king stood suddenly, his robes billowing behind him. His guards shuffled to make room so as not to step on the expensive fabric as the king began to sweep from the room. Frank Sr. rose in a panic, clinging to the bars as he realized he may lose his chance at freedom.

“Your Majesty! Please, please, I implore you to release me,” the king turned at this, his interest peaked. “Today is my son’s birthday. He’s expecting me, as is my father, and by now they’re likely very worried as to my whereabouts. Sire, please, I beg you. I’ll do whatever you like, I’ll give you whatever you desire, please just let me go home to my boy on his birthday.”

Striding back to his cell, the king brought his face to the bars. They were uncomfortably close, and he seemed to relish in the way he made the older man flinch under his gaze, as if daring him to put up a fight. The king studied the older man once again before he spoke.

“How old is your son?”

Puzzled by the question, he answered nonetheless. “Twenty-one today, sire.”

“And what of his mother?”

He swallowed thickly, the memory burning after all these years. “She died, in childbirth. I never cared to take another wife.” The king seemed unmoved by his story, shrugging as he began to make his way out of the dungeon again.

“He’s gone this long without his mother, and he’s an adult now. I don’t see why he needs his father anymore.”

“Your Majesty!” Frank Sr. cried out, hot tears springing from his eyes. “At least send word to him! Please, don’t make my son believe he has been orphaned!” The king considered him again, taking in his pathetic state before rolling his eyes.

“ _Fine._ I’ll send word of your whereabouts and your crimes to your precious boy,” he spat the last word with venom in his voice. “No more bartering, prisoner. You’ll stay in the dungeon where you belong until I tire of your presence or you die.” He swept through the dark halls with his guards surrounding him, their footsteps echoing off the walls until there was nothing but cold, oppressive silence.

Sinking against the stone floor, Frank Sr. held his head in his hands and allowed himself to cry.

*

It had been two days since Frank’s father had left. Not a word, not a trace; it was as if he had vanished on his trip to town, and Frank began to fear for his father’s life. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed his father’s absence; his neighbors and friends soon began to worry about him as well, and soon had gathered a meeting in the town square on his father’s behalf. Frank was grateful for their concern, but at this point was unsure what they could possibly do.

“We’ll find him,” said James, Frank’s friend since childhood, as they listened solemnly to the various ideas thrown about as to how to find his father. “We won’t give up, Frankie. I promise.”

“Thanks, James. I hope you’re right.”

The townspeople had gathered and agreed to search for Frank Sr. in the forest, thinking perhaps he had taken a shortcut and become lost on his way home. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption; his father had always liked a good adventure. Yet the comradery created by his friends and neighbors did little to raise Frank’s spirits. He still couldn’t shake the awful feeling that something was terribly _wrong._

As the group made their way to the edge of the forest, a man on horseback approached them swiftly. Frank’s eye was drawn to his strange clothing, noting he was quite ornately dressed for a ride through the forest. He wore a stiff red jacket with large gold buttons; the shoulders were sharp and angular, with fine, golden fabric woven into tassels, draped across each shoulder. His breeches were as black as his horse, coming down below his knee, swallowed up by shining black riding boots. He was a striking figure, and the group couldn’t help but slow to a stop as he approached.

“Good day,” he greeted the crowd with a nod as he trotted to a halt. “Please, tell me where I can find…” he rummaged in his saddlebag and fished out a very official looking letter, “Frank Anthony Thomas Iero Jr.?”

Every head in the group turned his was in unison, and Frank felt the blood drain from his face. Unsure of himself but hoping this man had news of his father, he approached the large horse and it’s intimidating rider. “He stands before you, sir.” He cleared his throat. “How may I assist you?”

The rider smiled at Frank’s discomfort. “You can read this, for a start,” Frank took the letter in his sweating hands. “I bring word of your father.”

Frank tore into the parchment with little regard for manners, as the crowd closed in on him, waiting to hear the news.

“What’s it say, Frank?” James was at his side, doing his best not to read over his shoulder. “Come on now, we’ve gotta go and get him!”

The dark, sinking feeling Frank had this whole time had been right. His father wasn’t coming home.

“He’s been imprisoned.”

The crowd fell silent.

“ _What?_ ” James gaped at him like a stunned fish, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. “Imprisoned?”

“By the king,” Frank sighed, rereading the brief letter. “He’s in the castle dungeon. He’ll be transported to Toulon soon.” He shoved the letter against James’ chest, unable to stand looking at the damned thing any longer. “Read it yourself, if you like,” he hissed as he pushed his way through the crowd and headed back to the village.

He never stopped to look back; he didn’t care. The anxiety that had been building within him finally began to break free and rear its’ ugly head, and the frustrated tears he’d been holding back made their way down his cheeks. Heading back to the small home he now would share with only his grandfather, Frank could hardly see for all the tears in his eyes. As he burst through the front door, he found his grandfather in their tiny kitchen, and collapsed into the old man’s arms.

“What is it, my boy? What’s got you in such a state?” He tried to push Frank back to look at him, but he was too frail, and Frank clung tightly to him, shaking as he sobbed. “Frank!”

“Father’s gone,” he said softly, managing to compose himself enough to look his grandfather in the eye. “He’s imprisoned at the king’s castle for trespassing.”

His grandfather’s expression fell, closing his eyes in defeat. “Oh, my boy.”

They stood in silence together for longer than Frank could remember. His tears had long since dried, but he still held to his grandfather like a lifeline. The feeling of his grandfather’s frail body, chest still rattling when he inhaled too deeply, the knobs of his spine easily felt through his thin skin, only served to remind Frank that all too soon he would be alone in this world. The thought terrified him, and in that moment, he promised himself that he had to take action.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered to his grandfather, squeezing him gently before pulling away. “I promise.”

“My boy, your father and I have always looked out for you, and that’s not going to stop now. You and I will watch over one another, but I want you to swear that you won’t fret over me.” Frank shook his head, backing away. “Frank, you still must live your life.”

“And I will. But I’m going to take care of you, and this.”

His grandfather looked puzzled, watching as his grandson headed for the door. “Where are you going, Frank?”

“To the castle,” grabbing his coat, he headed for the door. “I’m going to bring father home.”

*

As he looked up at the large, intimidating castle before him, Frank had to admit that attempting to break a prisoner out of the dungeons in the king’s castle was, perhaps, not his brightest of ideas. Perched behind a tree for cover (he was a tiny thing, after all), he attempted to come up with a plan of attack. In his heart he knew it was foolhardy and selfish to leave his grandfather in James’s care while he went to break even more laws than his father, and could potentially get the both of them killed in the process, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t _try._ At this point it was just a matter of how.

He circled the edge of the clearing, keeping the castle and all of its possible entrances in his sights. And though there were numerous entrances, each was heavily guarded, as Frank supposed was to be expected. As he neared the side entrance, he noticed a smaller door, much less grand than the others; no ornate carvings upon it, Frank surmised it must’ve been an entrance for the servants.

So he watched the entrance for what felt like a small eternity, and as the sun began to set, at last a man appeared from the servant’s door. Frank studied him before approaching, wanting to be certain he wasn’t a guard; his attire was simple, a loose white tunic and tan breaches over white stockings. His hair was a sight to behold, an impressive mountain of curls that tumbled just past the tops of his shoulders. He was deep in thought as he picked up a heavy sack labeled _FLOUR_ , he turned to bring it back inside when Frank made his move.

“Hey!” Frank did his best to shout and whisper at the boy as he approached. “Please don’t worry, I mean no harm. Will you help me?”

The boy eyed him wearily, the sack of flour flung over his broad shoulders. He was much taller up close; a fact that didn’t mean much to most, but again, Frank was a small fellow (and he’d deck you if you mentioned it). “Are you lost?”

Frank shook his head. “Not at all. Well… not lost, but I’m not sure how to get to where I need to be.”

“So you’re lost.”

“No, I just need to get to the dungeon.” The boy raised an eyebrow. “You know… to go see someone.”

“Prisoners don’t get visitors. And I can’t just bring you to the dungeon, only guards and the king are allowed down there.” He shifted the weight of the bag on his shoulders, suddenly becoming nervous. “Listen, I have to go-”

“Sir, please,” Frank reached out suddenly and grabbed the boy’s arm, causing him to freeze. “I beg you. My father is imprisoned in these dungeons, and wrongfully so. I have to get him out, I don’t know how I’ll do it, but he doesn’t belong here.”

The boy sighed, looking around briefly. “Come on, I’ll bring you inside. I’ll tell you how to get there, but under no circumstances will I help you any further. And if you get caught, that’s on you. Got it?” Frank nodded nervously as the boy held the door open for him and they entered. He shut it quietly behind him, set the flour down beside it, looking around to make sure they were alone; it appeared they were in part of the kitchens. “Make your way straight through the kitchens; the guards are all at their posts now, so there shouldn’t be anyone in your way, and us servants won’t say a word. Don’t make any turns until you leave the kitchens and exit into the great hall. From there you’ll follow along the left wall, until you come to a large tapestry of the king’s family crest- go behind it. There’s a hidden door that’ll take you straight down into the dungeon. After that, it’s on you to find him.”

“Thank you,” Frank pulled the boy in for a startling hug, “thank you so much. What is your name? I must repay the favor once I find my father.”

The boy just sighed, breaking the hug and putting his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “There’s no need. Just don’t mention me if you get caught, alright?” Puzzled as to why he refused to give his name, Frank simply nodded. “I hope you find your father.”

“I will,” Frank nodded confidently. “We’ll make it out together, you’ll see. Thank you again, my friend.”

The boy nodded, looking down. “Good luck.” Their eyes met, his expression solemn. “You’re going to need it.”

*

The dungeons were dark with hardly any light at all, save for a few pathetic candles placed haphazardly along the floor. It smelt of stale air and human waste, and it was all Frank could do not to gag. He held his hand over his mouth as he made his way through the halls, looking into each cell for his father, and he began to fear that he was too late.

“Father?” His timid voice echoed softly through the dungeon. “Father, it’s me, Frank… are you there?” A low groan from behind him drew his attention, and he turned to look. “Father? Where are you?”

“Frank?” His father’s groggy voice was next to him, and Frank rushed to the cell, clinging to the bars as he finally saw his father. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to save you, of course,” he smiled, almost laughing, overwhelmed with joy to see his father alive. “Come on, we must find a way to get you out of here. Surely there’s a way for me to pick this lock somehow…”

But his father shook his head. “There’s no getting out, Frank. I’ve tried.” His father lifted his hands to reveal that they were badly wounded, swollen and riddled with cuts; they’d likely be infected soon in the abysmal conditions he was living in. “What do you think I’ve been attempting these past few nights?”

Frank swallowed as his heart sank. “I won’t let you stay here. You should be at home with grandfather, not caged like an animal.”

“I made my bed, Frank. It’s high time I lie in it.”

The utter defeat in his father’s voice and overall demeanor shattered Frank to his core. This certainly hadn’t been what he’d expected at all; he thought his father would be happy to see him, and instead he’d given up on life entirely, resigned to his fate. But Frank hadn’t come so far only to turn back around without making sure his father was freed.

“Come closer, father. To the bars- I… I want to say something.” His father obliged, though he looked suspicious of his son’s intentions. “I love you, papa. I should’ve told you more often, and thanked you for the wonderful life you and grandfather helped give me. I’m going to miss you.”

Looking away as tears filled his eyes, his father nodded. “I love you too, son. Take care of yourself, you hear me?”

Frank nodded. “You too, papa.” He gently kissed his father’s injured hands. “Say hi to grandfather for me.” His father looked at him then, tear tracks down his dirty face, and Frank could see his words beginning to register.

“Son… what are you about to do?”

“I can’t stay, papa. I have a deal to make.”

Before he let his father respond, before he could talk himself out of it, before he could think of anything but his anger, grief, and guilt, he turned and sprinted through the dungeon, back up the stairs and through the door behind the tapestry in the great hall. He tumbled out of the door with a huff, momentarily tangled in the tapestry, before he regained his balance and strode through the great hall like a man with a purpose. And despite his shaking legs, sweating palms, and rapid heartbeat, Frank managed to march up to the nearest guard he could find.

“I wish to speak with the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila, chapter 2 is ready for the weekend! Let me know your thoughts! <3


	3. Hearts Like Melted Wax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blink and you’ll miss it smut. ;)  
> Any mistakes are my own.

Frank was thrown to the floor in a heap, his knees cracking against the hard floor as his palms caught him. He felt his skin scrape and split against the shining ground beneath him, and he hissed in pain, knowing that he’d have to clean his injuries later. He’d never imagined such a rude welcoming, but he did suppose it wasn’t everyday that strangers wandered into the castle and demanded to speak with the king. He held his head up, looking around him, and realized he must’ve been in the throne room.

The room was dark, save for a bit of light that came in through the windows that were covered with heavy curtains. Frank could faintly make out the tapestries that lined the walls, assuming they were just as ornate and grand as the ones that had been in the great hall, but his eyes were drawn to the small steps that led to the throne, slightly elevated in the center of the room. It was an ugly thing, if he were to be honest; ornately carved and made to look like solid gold (perhaps it was- Frank had never seen actual gold before), it looked terribly stiff and uncomfortable, much like the man who occupied it.

He wore a long, black robe, that would’ve trailed past him as he walked. It was fastened at his neck with a large ruby encircled with diamonds, and Frank could only imagine how much such a piece was worth. The rest of his attire was just as dark, with black leather boots that came just below his knee, tight black breeches, and a flowing black tunic that was tucked into the waist of his breeches. He was a stark contrast to his guards on the typical style of the time. Most nobility wore bright colors, and men’s fashion called for high stockings and intricate ruffles, but the king appeared to do as he pleased in regards to his clothing; as was his want, Frank supposed.

“I hear there was another trespasser on the castle grounds?” His voice was high and smooth, betraying his intimidating exterior.

“ _In_ the castle, sire,” responded the guard closest to Frank, shoving him for good measure. “He approached me in the great hall and demanded to speak with you.”

The king chuckled. “Bold little thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m not _little,_ ” Frank seethed, gritting his teeth.

“Did I say you could speak?” The king’s voice boomed, his annoyance apparent. “Tell me boy, did I say you could speak?”

“Well, you asked me a question,” Frank shrugged, his anger flaring. He tried to keep it under control, he knew this was his king and it could have dire consequences for him and for his father if he mouthed off.

At that the king rose swiftly, his robe billowing behind him like a cloud of smoke as he made long strides and stood in front of Frank, pausing for a moment before he sunk to Frank’s level. “Do you know who you speak to, boy?” He looked at Frank with curious eyes, and Frank never backed down. “You are aware of the gravity of your actions, yes?” Frank nodded. “I could have you killed.”

“But you’ve not heard my offer, Your Majesty,” he said flatly, tired of having this man in his face, throwing his proverbial weight around all because of some foolish title he was born into.

Smirking, the king leaned in closer. ‘Well, boy, let’s hear it then. What can you offer a king?”

“An exchange: my life for my father’s. He’s in your dungeons as we speak, he was the trespasser just a few days ago. He’s old, injured, and those injuries are likely to become infected. Assuming you don’t provide care for your prisoners, an infection would kill him swiftly. Let me take his place. I’m young, only just twenty-one; I will not fight you, or attempt to escape. My life will be long, as will be my sentence; let my father go home to die in peace.”

The king puckered his lips, as if chewing on Frank’s words. “And what if I simply decide to execute the both of you?”

Frank shrugged. “It is your decision, Your Majesty.”

“Will you not beg?”

“I beg for nothing, sire.”

A genuine smile spread across the king’s face, and Frank would’ve found him handsome if the situation had been different. His features could only be described as delicate, and his long hair gave him a slightly feminine edge. Frank was taken aback, his breath hitching as his heart seemed to give two thumps at once, but the moment was gone in a flash.

“We’ll see about that, boy,” the king’s smile turned into a smirk as he stood in one fluid motion, robe flowing behind him as he headed back to his throne. “Your father will be released. You, however, will not be staying in the dungeons; no, a face that pretty should be seen.” Frank hated that the words made him blush, stirring something inside him that finally made him break his gaze with the monarch. The king sat down smoothly, his smirk still in place. “Release his father. Bring the boy to the servant’s wing.”

“Thank you, sire,” Frank said as he was lifted from the floor and set on his unsteady feet. The king waved a disinterested hand, dismissing him, and the guards began to guide him from the room.

“One last thing, boy,” came the king’s voice from behind him. Frank turned and saw the king smirking, a long leg slung suggestively over the arm of the throne. Everything was on display, and Frank could see every line of the king’s body. He blushed deeply. “What is your name?”

Frank swallowed before answering. “Frank, Your Majesty.”

The king nodded. “Off you go, Frank. You need your rest; we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

*

Gerard slammed the door to his chambers behind him, flinging off his robe in a huff, the heavy brooch clattering against the floor. He’d let a stupid commoner get the best of him; the boy had the nerve to disrespect him to his face, and Gerard had let him get away with it. And for what? Because the boy was pretty? Gerard always knew he’d had a weakness for young men with pretty eyes, but they’d always had the decency to respect him and his title. But this one… this one had gotten into his head.

He should’ve had the boy and his father sent to the gallows for their behavior, but instead the boy had gotten his way, and Gerard had even given him a lenient sentence. He at least belonged in the dungeons, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Damn that boy and his pretty face; Gerard would have to be stronger, not show his weakness. The boy could easily exploit it if he found out, if he got close…

Falling gracelessly back onto his bed, sinking into the soft mattress, his mind continued to race. Gerard couldn’t decide whether he wanted to throttle the boy or kiss him. His body certainly had a few ideas, if the growing erection that was straining in his breeches was anything to go by. He palmed at it idly, more so to distract himself from his anger than to find relief, as he could’ve easily called to one of his favorite servants to please him instead of taking care of the problem himself. He hadn’t been on his own in ages, finding it boring and much more pleasurable to use a partner to find relief as opposed to his hand. But he knew either way he’d be left frustrated that night, as he couldn’t have who he _truly_ wanted. Well… he supposed he could; but consent was much sweeter than the thought of simply taking the boy.

Especially when he knew the boy was stubborn and hot-headed. Just as cocky as he was, Gerard longed to get his hands on him. He settled instead for his own cock, freeing it from the confines of his clothing, hissing as he began to stroke himself. He spat in his hand to ease the friction, hips bucking in response as he quickened his pace.

“Fuck,” the gasp fell from his lips, and thoughts of hazel eyes and pretty lips danced in his head. He hadn’t had this much fun on his own since he first discovered he could make himself orgasm.

_I beg for nothing, sire._

“Oh, I’ll make you beg,” he promised himself through gritted teeth as he increased his pace. The thought of Frank beneath him as he fucked into his tight heat, begging for more, harder, rougher, deeper, nearly sent Gerard over the edge. He wanted the entire castle to hear Frank beg for it, beg for _him._ “God, _fuck!_ ”

He came forcefully in his hand, coating his palm and wrist, making the slide of his hand smooth and sweet. He managed to milk the last drops of come from his cock, stars behind his eyes, and his heart began to beat in a normal rhythm again. But he was quickly reminded of why he preferred a partner; on his own, he was left to do the cleaning up.

*

Frank was startled awake by a gentle nudge against his shoulder. For a moment he expected to see his grandfather smiling down at him, his wrinkled face happy to see him. But when he saw the boy who’d helped him sneak into the castle looking back at him, his heart plummeted when he remembered where he was.

“Time to get up,” the boy said, his curls tumbling around his face. “We’ve got to start the day.”

Frank groaned. “But it’s so _early_ , surely there’s nothing to be done around the castle before sunrise!”

“You’ve a lot to learn around here,” the boy just smiled, reaching out his hand. “I’m Ray. Glad to see you made it out of the dungeons.” Frank shook Ray’s hand.

“Yes, well… I’m stuck as a servant though. I didn’t exactly make it out.”

Ray just rolled his eyes, that fond smile still on his face. “Don’t act so put-upon. You’ve managed to secure one of the best positions in the castle.”

Finally getting up from his small cot, Frank stretched, hearing and feeling the muscles and joints in his body pop and crack. The servant’s wing was not aptly named; hardly a wing at all, more like a corridor with a handful of adjacent rooms with ten cots to a room. Ray had told him the night before that the female servants slept on a different floor of the castle, as their numbers were much smaller compared to the male servants. After all, the king was not married or a father; aside from a few cooks and maids, there was hardly a woman in sight.

“What exactly _is_ my position?”

“You’re the king’s valet,” he said, tossing Frank a clean tunic. “It’s one of the better paying positions in the castle, and you’re with the king most of the day.”

Frank wrinkled his nose at that. “I’d rather not be with the king most of the day.”

“Someone has to do it,” Ray laughed as they dressed. “Besides, I’ve heard he’s not so bad. He’s always been respectful, though he has a bit of a temper if you step out of line. I think his big scary king persona is all simply an act.”

“What do I do as his valet?” His breeches were uncomfortably tight, and seemed to highlight every area of his lower half that shouldn’t be highlighted. Add in the stockings and his ruffled tunic, and he felt like a fool.

“Whatever the king says, really. You attend to all of his personal needs.”

He couldn’t help but frown again. “And you mentioned we are paid for this? I doubt he’ll pay me, considering I’m taking a prisoner’s place.”

Ray simply shrugged. “He should pay you, but the king does what the king wants.” He tied up his hair in a loose ponytail, a few curls falling free. “We should get breakfast soon before I take you up to the king’s chambers. You’ll have to get a feel for the layout of the castle soon; you don’t want to have to ask the guards for any favors.” Ray shuddered ever so slightly, as if shaken by a bad memory.

They made their way down the servants staircase into the kitchens. There they were met by a few other servants, all much more lively and awake than he was, and were given a bowl of oatmeal with some slices of fresh peaches mixed in. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been, and he was shocked by how delicious the food was.

“Is our food always this good?” He questioned Ray, thinking that surely the lowly servants would get the scraps if lucky. But Ray simply nodded.

“Not as good as the king’s food, of course.” He shrugged nonchalantly, talking from the side of his mouth as he attempted to chew at the same time. “He feeds us well though. Wants us to take breaks for lunch and dinner as well. He’ll probably tell you when to take your break, but if not, it’s usually at midday. Make sure he’s eaten before you, though. None of us eat until the king’s food has been delivered.”

“Noted,” Frank murmured, swallowing his last peach slice. “So,” he set down his bowl next to Ray’s, preparing himself for the day, “care to show me to His Majesty’s chambers?”

*

The large, ornately carved doors leading directly to the king’s bedchamber opened just as soon as Frank knocked upon them. His Majesty was dressed similarly to the day before, though his robe was missing. The sunlight was beginning to shine through the halls, illuminating his handsome features, and Frank was taken aback by how young he was. They stared at one another for a moment.

“You’re late.”

“It’s difficult to find one’s way around such a large castle,” Frank shrugged, walking past the king into his bedchamber. “Besides, I made it, did I not?”

The king huffed, crossing his arms as he faced the boy. “Frank-“

“At your service,” he cooed, making sure to bow as low and ridiculously as possible, mocking the king with his arrogance. As he straightened his posture, he found the king standing directly in front of him, and he quickly fisted the collar of his tunic, bringing their faces mere inches apart.

“It would be wise to respect me, boy,” the king’s voice was like ice, his eyelids narrow, brow lowered in anger. “Insubordination will not be tolerated, and you dare to test my patience on your first hour?” He tutted, letting Frank go with a light shove. “You’ve much to learn.”

Frank straightened his clothing, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I won’t make this easy for you.”

“Do you wish to end up as your father did? Cold and starving in the dungeons, waiting to be sent to the finest prison in all of France?” He smirked at Frank’s noticeable lack of a retort. “I thought not. I do not expect you to like me, Frank, but I expect you to respect me.”

“I mean no offense, Your Majesty, but I was always taught that respect was earned.”

“Then respect the fact that I can have you hanged for any reason I so desire. Or do you not value your life?”

“What _life?!_ ” Frank knew he should keep his cool, the king was visibly angry, but he had nothing to lose. “What life is this, Your Majesty? I toil away at your side until my final days? No say in what happens to me, no joy, no fulfillment?” The king’s fists unclenched, and Frank saw his posture soften ever so slightly. “I have lost my life already. Away from my family, who have no way to feed themselves, as my father cannot possibly take up his business again after injuring his hands so severely.” The king looked at him inquisitively. “What? Never had a lowly commoner shout at you before?”

“Oh, plenty of times, but you’re all easily ignored,” he murmured, “but you mentioned your father. He’s unable to work?”

“His fingers were cut and broken. He’s a clockmaker, he uses his hands.”

The king smiled to himself as he turned and walked through his bedchamber. “I’m sure we can arrange for your salary to be sent to your family. If you’re fine with such an arrangement of course.”

Frank looked at him, dumbfounded. “I… I get a salary?”

Gerard had to hide his smile. “Of course, Frank. All servants get a salary. You aren’t a slave.”

Feeling his anger beginning to deflate, Frank felt like he was drowning. He hated this man, there was no doubt in his mind, but he felt just the tiniest part of his heart begin to soften. He stuffed it down, ignoring the feeling, squaring his shoulders to bring out a rougher exterior. “Yes, I would like my salary to be sent to my father.”

The king nodded, turning to look at Frank. “It’s settled, then.” They locked eyes for a moment, two unflinching personalities, each hardened by instability and loss, and for a fleeting moment, each felt the mood shift. The anger and frustration that coursed through the air like lightning ebbed and gave way for a split second. Frank averted his eyes first, and the spell was broken. “Come now, Frank. It’s time to show you how things work around here.” Frank hurried and met the king at his side, looking up at him for instruction. “Now listen carefully, because I’ll only explain things to you once…”

*

Frank lifted the seal as gently as he could, careful not to destroy the impression in the wax yet again. To his great frustration, he’d managed to lift half the wax along with the seal, and he let out a soft groan. The king had specifically instructed him to master it on his own, yet he couldn’t seem to get it right.

“What now, Frank?” The king murmured from across the room, not bothering to look up from the letter he was writing.

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” he responded, not wanting to ask questions. The king had made it clear that he was to master each task on his own; and he was trying, but this particular task was a thorn in his side.

The king looked over at him. “Don’t tell me you burned yourself with the wax,” he looked amused at the idea, and Frank huffed in annoyance.

“No, sire. Simply… having a bit of difficulty.”

Standing and stretching, the king came to him and inspected his work. “The wax is lifting when you remove the seal?” Frank nodded, slightly embarrassed at his inability to perform such a menial task. “You’re simply letting the wax dry for too long, then the seal gets stuck in it, and lifts the wax when you attempt to remove it. Here, let me show you.”

The king’s upper body crossed in front of Frank, and he was intensely aware of how good the older man smelled. But he watched him intently, studying his long fingers as he peeled off the remnants of the wax Frank had ruined, melted the end of the stick of sealing wax, and poured several drops onto the pointed fold of the letter. The king quickly pressed the seal down with a firm hand, paused a moment, _1, 2, 3,_ and lifted quickly, to reveal a perfect wax seal.

“Here,” the king said, striding back to his desk to gather the letter he’d just finished, “try this one on your own.”

Frank did as instructed, following the steps the king had showed him. Much to his relief, the seal was perfect this time. He smiled up at the king, who gave a tight-lipped nod in return. He returned to his desk and kept his back to Frank.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Frank offered.

He offered a disinterested wave of his hand, back still turned. “Back to work,” he grumbled.

Frank stifled a smile, biting his lip as he turned back to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is always appreciated. Thank you to all the lovely folks who have left such amazing comments thus far. I love you.


	4. The King and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little romance, a little snowball fight. Just another day for the boys.  
> Posted this early because I somehow cranked it out really quickly. As always, any mistakes are my own.

It had been over a month since Frank had begun his position as the king’s valet, and he was adapting well. He sent letters to his father every week, and did his best to hide his disappointment when he never received a reply; perhaps his hands were still healing from the injuries he’d sustained in the dungeons. His family was always at the back of his mind, and knowing he’d never see them again made his budding fondness for the king even more difficult to handle.

Frank had joined Ray in the gardens one particularly dreary afternoon, a dense fog laying low over the horizon. They studied the parterres for a few moments, before taking a seat at the edge of one of the pools; a statue of a woman and child in the pool looked down upon them, their lifeless eyes causing Frank to look away. He focused on the swans instead, paddling gently through the water.

“Ray, I… may I confide in you?”

His friend looked puzzled. “Of course, Frank. Does something trouble you?”

Frank twisted his gloved hands in his lap, trying not to let the chill rolling off the fog seep into his coat. “I suppose one could say I am troubled. I prefer to say torn, but… I fear musing over semantics will simply delay my point: I’ve grown fond of the king, in a strange way.” Ray seemed to take his words in, neither staring at him nor ignoring him, simply listening. “Do not misunderstand, my friend, we are by no means close, the king and I. We’re simply…”

“Close?” Ray smiled at him then, a teasing lilt in his cadence that made Frank blush. “I sense you feel guilty over this newfound friendship with your ruler?” Frank nodded in response. “Why?”

“Well, where would I start?” He rose from his ledge at the pool, and Ray followed as they walked back towards the castle. “He imprisoned my father; he’s a tyrant; he’s a selfish twit who thinks he’s the lord’s gift to France; he’s terribly awkward as well, he just keeps giving me these _looks_ ”

“Wait,” Ray chuckled, stopping Frank with a hand on his arm, “what do you mean by ‘looks’?”

Frank sighed. “It’s the strangest thing, Ray, he’ll just… he just stares at me. I’ll catch him looking at me, and he simply smiles and returns to whatever was occupying him to begin with. At first I thought he was making certain I was performing my tasks correctly, but he hasn’t stopped, even after I’ve proven that I’m more than competent at my position.”

Smiling at his friend, Ray put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Enjoy being on the king’s good side, my friend. But be cautious.” He continued to walk them back to the castle.

“Why would I need to be cautious?”

Ray let a huff of breath slip past his lips, and lowered his voice. “Aside from the obvious reasons? Frank, I have no clue nor care as to whom you fancy; boy or girl,” Frank’s eyebrows nearly raised to his hairline, his palms instantly becoming sweaty. “But the king, well… rumors travel fast in the castle. He would never hurt you, not like that. But do remember that he is the king, and it would be wise to tread lightly, if you prefer soft hips to broad shoulders.” With another clap upon the back, Ray excused himself and headed back to the castle.

He made his way through the castle, up the steps and through the halls, stewing over Ray’s advice. If he were honest with himself, he knew he had no particular preference; he saw nothing wrong with women, even enjoyed kissing them behind the trees in the schoolyard when he was young. As he grew older though, he realized he also enjoyed kissing men. He couldn’t decide whether knowing the king’s desires were like his own put him on edge or, even worse, lit a fire within him.

The sun was beginning to set when he knocked upon the door of the king’s bedchamber. “It’s Frank, Your Majesty. May I come in?” Once he heard the approval he needed, he entered.

The room was in complete darkness, save for a single candle on the king’s desk. He was hunched over it, scribbling away on a piece of parchment, swathed in his evening robes. The dark red velvet looked smooth, almost black in the dim lighting, and Frank longed to reach out and touch the rich fabric.

_Perhaps you wish to touch him,_ his mind betrayed him, and he shook his head to get his inner monologue to be quiet.

“How may I assist you this evening, sire?”

The king whirled around and looked at him as if just realizing he was in the room. Shaking his head in order to clear it, his hair fell around his face, and Frank had to will his heart to slow down. “No… no, Frank, you are done for the evening.” He swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair. “How was your time with… with your friend? I cannot recall his name.”

“Ray, Your Majesty,” Frank offered a smile, noting how off-kilter he seemed. Perhaps he was tired… “It was nice; calm. Informative.”

The king nodded absentmindedly. “Good. I am glad to hear you are making friends with the other servants,” he offered a weak smile. “Frank, I will need you to accompany me to my brother’s palace. There’s been… a death in the family, and my brother requires my presence.”

Frank nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. When do we leave?”

“In the morning,” he turned back to his desk, picking up his quill and resuming his writing. “Robert will gather your belongings, and we will leave at dawn. It’s best that you go to your room and get some sleep. You’re dismissed.”

“Of course sire,” Frank couldn’t stop himself from bowing, despite the king’s back being turned. “I will see you at dawn.” As he headed out the door, he paused, unable to help himself. “Your Majesty, I… I am deeply sorry for your loss. Perhaps it is not my place, but-”

“You’re correct, Frank, it is not your place.” The king’s voice was icy, laced with pain, and Frank’s heart fell. “Again, you are _dismissed._ ”

Nodding to himself, Frank closed the door quietly and headed down the servant’s staircase to the servant’s wing. He felt familiar anger flare in his belly, along with embarrassment and shame. Perhaps he had been wrong this whole time.

*

Gerard peered over the top of his book to glance at Frank. They’d been stuck in the carriage together all day, and the boy had finally fallen asleep, perhaps out of boredom. Darkness had long since fallen, leaving Gerard to read by moonlight as they continued their journey to his brother’s palace.

In truth, he felt immense guilt over the way he had treated Frank the previous night. The boy had simply tried to be helpful, showing compassion when Gerard had needed it most, and instead of acknowledging the kind gesture, Gerard had rejected him maliciously. He had regretted his words and cadence instantly, wanting to apologize, but unsure how to do so without stumbling over his words and risking looking like a fool.

He was unsure how to process these feelings; he’d never had to apologize, he’d never _wanted_ to apologize. He was entitled to treat people precisely as he saw fit, and even with his own family he had never much cared for apologies. So why did this boy deserve an apology?

Surely not because of his beauty. Gerard had taken many a beautiful lover before him, never having been affected in such a way. Though it was true that Frank held his fancy far deeper than anyone before, and perhaps that was where his conundrum was; his struggle was not with Frank, but with himself, and the emotions for the boy that he was developing.

Snapping his book closed, he exhaled through his nose with great annoyance. _Emotions._ They were useless, really. The only emotion he should feel towards Frank was disgust at his constant insubordination. He had an attitude that made Gerard want to simultaneously strangle him and kiss him. No one had ever challenged him so openly and lived to tell the tale, but Frank did so on a daily basis, and Gerard couldn’t help but find his wit and snark to be nothing short of charming.

Frank stirred in his sleep, rolling over so that his face was illuminated by the moonlight that seeped in through the curtains. His long lashes fanned over the tops of his cheeks, the same cheeks that were adorned with a light dusting of freckles that had always charmed Gerard. Dark, perfectly arched eyebrows complimented his striking eyes, and a soft pair of lips rounded out his beautiful features. Gerard was swimming in uncharted waters, and he knew he’d soon be drowning if he didn’t distance himself.

“Sire?” Frank murmured, struggling to open his eyes.

“Yes, Frank?”

“How far are we from your brother’s palace?” He sat up and rolled his shoulders, and the muscles in his back gave a loud pop. “Your carriage is lovely, but I believe my back would prefer a bed of some kind.”

Gerard smirked. “Not much longer. An hour, perhaps two if we encounter snow.”

“Snow?” Frank perked up at the mere mention of the word. “I love snow. Do you think we’ll see some while we’re here?”

“It’s possible,” Gerard shrugged, opening his book, completely unsurprised that Frank loved snow. “It is the time of year, after all.” Frank hummed in response, leaning back in his seat. Gerard looked up again, and found the boy to be looking straight at him. “Frank, I…” he averted his gaze, feeling his face grow warm. “I am sorry, for how I spoke to you last night. You were simply trying to be kind; I was wrong.”

The silence grew between them, as did the blush on Gerard’s cheeks. He didn’t dare look up from his book, afraid to see his valet’s expression.

“I accept, Your Majesty.” Frank’s voice was soft, and Gerard could hear the smile in it.

“Good. Now go back to sleep. I’m trying to read.” He was relieved when Frank didn’t fight him, and when he eventually looked back up, the boy was fast asleep.

Perhaps drowning wouldn’t be so terrible. 

*

Frank awoke the next morning in his guest room provided by the king’s brother, whom he’d met briefly the night before. In truth, he had been so stunned to actually have his own room that he didn’t remember much about the prince, aside from his ashy blonde hair and angular features, similar to his brother. He had been quiet, simply nodding in greeting to his brother when they arrived, and Frank was curious if it had to do with the passing of their family member.

He stretched languidly, loving the feeling of the plush bedding, tempted to sink back down and fall asleep again. Sadly, he knew he had to rise and be there for the king, so he forced himself out of the sinfully comfortable bed, and prepared for the day.

Gerard was exactly where Frank thought he would be: bowed over his breakfast in the dining area of his guest chambers. Musing to himself that some things would never change, he approached with ease, but came to a sudden halt when the king looked up at him. His eyelids were pink, and the tip of his nose was nearly red; Frank couldn’t discern whether he was ill or had been crying. Unsure what to do, Frank stood still as the king looked back down at his food.

“I fear you have caught me in a moment of weakness, Frank,” the king sighed, setting down his spoon and wiping his mouth with his napkin. “You may approach; I know you must have questions, so, please have seat,” he motioned to the chair across from him. Frank was unsure, but took the seat either way. “My mother was the one who passed. She died in her sleep, from what, we are unsure. Her funeral will be held tomorrow.”

Taken aback by his blunt tone, Frank simply stared at the king. “I’m… Your Majesty, I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.” He had to stop himself from reaching out to grasp the king’s hand. “I cannot imagine how you must feel.”

The king simply sighed, turning his gaze to the window. “I do wish that I were sad, Frank. Perhaps that is harsh, but it’s true; despite my tears, I find no sadness in her death. Relief? I suppose. I feel regret more than anything.”

“I do hope I am not speaking out of turn, Your Majesty, but…” Frank struggled for the right words as the king looked back upon him. “Regret is an odd emotion to experience after a child loses their mother.”

Snorting with amusement, the king wiped at his eyes. “Yes, well, you did not know my mother, Frank. Believe me, that is a most favorable thing. She was a wicked woman, cruel and callous, unfit of the title of ‘mother’. She neither loved, nor cared for Michael and myself; we were annoyances. Constant reminders of this unwanted life she had thrust upon her.” He paused, and Frank was unsure if he was waiting for a response. He took a sip of his tea before continuing. “I cannot blame her, however. She was forced to marry my father, and though he was kind and loved her dearly, love cannot be forced. She never wanted to be queen.”

“Sire, I still do not understand why you regret her passing,” Frank replied, his confusion playing upon his face. The king gave a soft, sad smile before responding.

“I regret the pain I caused her, Frank.” His expression was a mixture of sadness and frustration. “I was never an easy child, and I could sense her unhappiness. So I made it my mission to make her life as miserable as I could.” He stood then, unable to sit still. “I’m uncertain why I’m telling you this, Frank. I’m not an easy person to enjoy, I have no delusions about this. But I was… _horrid._ ”

Frank sat in silence as the king looked out the window. Frank would’ve given anything to have his mother back; he’d never known her, but his father had sang her praises his entire life. It didn’t surprise him that the king had purposely made his mother miserable, but to Frank, it seemed as though she had done the same to him.

“And the most horrible part,” he laughed to himself, his voice laced his contempt, “was that she apologized. She begged for my forgiveness, after my father died. Do you know what I did, Frank? I cast her out. I refused her apology, I rejected her, and made her leave the only home she had known for over twenty years, because I couldn’t let go of the pain I had endured as a child.” He faced Frank again, eyes red, fighting back tears. “She’d forgiven me, learned to love me, and I could not find it within myself to give her the same courtesy.”

Frank found himself standing then, the ache in his chest propelling him towards the king. He dared to grab the king’s hand, and loosened his grip when he noticed the older man became stiff and uncomfortable.

“I did not know your mother, Your Majesty, but I swear that when she passed, she still loved you. You are her son, and a mother’s love knows no limitations.” The king looked away, and Frank dropped their joined hands. “Let this be her way of showing you, that if you love someone, you must always tell them, no matter the cost, no matter the circumstance. Life is precious, sire, and there is no way of knowing when it will end. Live it to its’ fullest.”

The king clutched the windowsill tightly, his knuckles white, shoulders quivering as he forced himself not to cry. Frank longed to reach out and touch him, but knew it was not the time. He simply sighed and backed away.

“I will leave you,” he said softly, “for I know you like to be alone in difficult times. Would you like me to accompany you at the funeral?” The king shook his head, and Frank felt his heart sink. “Very well. I am here if you need anything at all, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Frank. I appreciate your kindness.”

“It is my pleasure, sire.” And that was true. He found himself softening to the king as each day passed, and seeing him in pain made something within him twist. He reluctantly left the room, and busied himself about the palace for the rest of the day.

The king never called for him.

*

It had been two days since the funeral, and Frank was still giving the king ample room to grieve on his own. Though it concerned him to see the man in pain, he knew that he had his brother if need be, as well as himself. He tried not to dwell on the king’s sour mood, and made his way to the gardens, as it had finally snowed the night before. Of course, this meant they would be stuck at the palace until the snow had melted, but Frank could no longer find it within himself to care; so he wrapped himself in his coat and headed for the gardens.

He was practically giddy as he sloshed his way through the snow, raising his knees high and stomping them down through the unblemished, cold fluff. It was akin to being a child again, for just a brief moment in time. He sat down in the thick of it, his bottom now chilly and sure to get wet. Picking up two handfuls of snow, he tossed it up into the air around him.

“You’ll catch a chill like that,” the king’s voice behind him warned, and he turned to find the older man looking down upon him with a fond smirk. He was wrapped in dark furs that trailed down his back and dusted the ground, and it gave him an air of confidence as he strode lazily past Frank.

The king shrugged a shoulder, eyes roaming the horizon. “I’ve made peace with her death. I suspect some days will prove more difficult than others; only time will tell.” Frank stopped in his tracks, watching the king continue ahead of him. On a whim, he grabbed a handful of snow, packed it into a ball, and before he could think better of it, threw it directly at the king’s back.

Time stopped as the king stood as still as a statue. Eventually, he peered over his shoulder back at Frank, his brow furrowed.

“Did you just throw snow at me?” His indignation made Frank equal parts terrified and amused.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else out here,” Frank grinned, feeling his heart race in his chest.

The king’s mouth simply hung open. “You do know I could have you hanged for this?”

“You’ve threatened to hang me nearly everyday since we first met,” Frank smiled, feeling his confidence build as he sauntered over to the king. “And yet, you haven’t?” Their faces were mere inches apart, and Frank could see the striking flecks of gold in the king’s eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

A teasing smile played across the king’s lips. “Do you think me a liar?”

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Frank returned the smile. “I believe you’ve simply met your match.”

And at that, Frank jumped back to gather more snow, and the king mimicked his actions, though Frank was much faster, as he had no heavy furs to weigh him down. He sprinted past the king, laughing loudly, turning around to launch the snow at him, when he was suddenly pelted directly in the face.

“Oh my god, Frank!” The king hurried towards him as he spit snow out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you’d turn around,” he said, helping Frank dust the snow off his face.”

“So you were simply aiming for my head?” Frank couldn’t help but laugh, delighted that he’d made the king smile. “You’ve quite the cannon for an arm, Your Majesty.” He took the snow that was still in his hand and splattered it atop the king’s head. “But I’m afraid that I’ve won.” He made a dash for the palace, laughing all the way.

“You cannot just _declare_ a victory!” The king shouted after him, shaking the snow from his hair. “That was hardly a fair fight, and you know it, Frank!”

“No one ever mentioned it had to be fair!” He turned to see the king staring at him, arms folded across his chest. He tried to look annoyed, but it clearly wasn’t working. “I’ll make you a deal, Your Majesty; tomorrow afternoon, round two. What say you?”

The king walked towards him, a flush in his cheeks that made him look more alive than Frank had ever seen. He couldn’t help but grin.

“I accept,” the king replied softly, as he made his way past the boy. “Keep a close eye on your steps, Frank. We wouldn’t want you to wind up at the gallows now, would we?” The king gave him the most dazzling smile, and Frank was at a loss for words for a moment. “No witty retort? I’m disappointed, Frank.” With that, the king swept gracefully into the palace, leaving Frank alone in the cold.

He brought his hands up to his cheeks; they were warm to the touch, and he was certain he was blushing. He cursed himself as he headed back into the palace- it was one thing to be fond of the king, but it was entirely different to develop feelings for him. This was the last thing he needed.

*

“I saw you with him this afternoon,” Michael said softly over dinner. His brother was never one to mince words, and Gerard knew he would be told exactly what Michael was feeling on the matter. “I haven’t seen you smile that much since we were children.”

“Mmm,” Gerard responded noncommittally, continuing to eat his soup.

“I would ask if you had bedded him yet,” Gerard nearly choked on his food, “but then I remembered that most of your conquests get the cold shoulder outside of the bedroom. So tell me, brother, what is it about this boy that’s so special?” Michael’s eyes were nearly boring holes into his skin, and Gerard became increasingly uncomfortable. “He is rather pretty, but you’ve had pretty lovers before.”

“Now is not the time, Michael. Our mother just passed.” He heard Michael snort. “And what hand would you have in my relations with my valet, Michael? He is my servant, nothing more.”

Michael sighed. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, brother. It’s a marvel that you’ve remained king for so long.”

“Take the throne, I care not. It’s brought me nothing but misery since father’s death, and I wouldn’t wish the burden upon my enemies.” He put down his utensil and found his brother was staring at him quizzically. “Surely you can see my displeasure, Michael. You can read me better than anyone. You, and now the boy.”

Nodding in silence, Michael flashed the tiniest of smiles. “So that’s what it is; he sees through your bluster.”

Gerard smiled. “He sees through and returns it tenfold.” Michael laughed, a sound Gerard hadn’t heard in years. It warmed him.

“Well then, it must be love. The tyrant king has met his match.” They sat in silence, exchanging fond looks. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of telling him?” Michael sighed when Gerard shook his head. “Gerard, I know that, with your tastes-”

“You mean the fact that I fuck men?”

“Must you always be so crude? Yes, Gerard, due to the fact that you prefer men, I know that marriage isn’t in your future. But have you not considered at least seeking a partner? There was one-”

“Yes, there was one, and he left when I became king,” he retorted, the memory still stinging. “If the burden of my title is nearly too much for me, then how can I expect to pull Frank into this? I cannot even give him a proper title, I cannot marry him. Does he not deserve that? Does he not deserve a man who can completely give himself to him, and not be shared with an entire nation?”

“And do you not deserve love?”

“Not from him. Michael, he’s…” he fumbled to find the words, “he’s too good. He’s kind, and gentle, and yes, he has the attitude of a petulant schoolboy, but it only surfaces when I’ve given it reason to surface. Besides, he’d never forgive me for what I did to his father.” Michael’s judgmental gaze and quirked eyebrow spurred him further. “I had his father imprisoned for trespassing.”

“Seems a bit harsh, though not unjust.” Michael took a sip of his wine “I take it you let his father go?”

“Only after Frank convinced me to let them switch places.” Gerard winced. “I gave him a position as valet with the intention of bedding him. That, however, never happened.”

“Not off to a great start, I will admit. But these are not obstacles that can’t be overcome, brother.” The look his brother gave him caused hope to bloom in Gerard’s chest. “Show him kindness, without strings attached. Expect nothing from him, brother, but give everything. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and the smile you put on his face; it won’t take much. But do it for noble reasons, which means not just to see him without his clothing.”

Before he could respond, the brothers were interrupted by a young maid, who appeared to be in quite the hurry. She approached them rapidly, her gaze averted as she bowed and addressed Gerard.

“Your Majesty, please forgive my intrusion,” she said weakly, clearly frightened by the king.

“Nothing to forgive, young lady. How may I help you this evening?”

She peered up at him through long lashes, then looked to Michael, who nodded at her to continue. “It’s your valet, sire, Frank. He is unwell.”

Gerard’s stomach dropped. “Where is he?”

“The guest wing, Your Majesty,” she sprang back as Gerard quickly stood from his seat. “He collapsed on his way back from dinner. The other maids say he is warm to the touch.”

“Bring him to my chambers,” Gerard insisted, turning to Michael. “Do you have a doctor on your staff?”

“Of course,” Michael replied, following Gerard to the staircase. “I’ll send for him.”

Frank was carried into Gerard’s bedchamber moments later, the guards setting him down gently on the bed. He was flushed down his face and neck, and there was a large gash on his forehead. Gerard assumed he must’ve hit his head when he collapsed. Sitting next to him, he place his hand against Frank’s cheek, startled at how warm he was.

“He’s positively buring,” he observed. “Yet he was fine this morning… Michael, could you have one of your staff fetch me a damp cloth while we wait for the doctor? We need to try to bring his fever down.” Michael barley had a chance to ask before the servants were bustling about, nearly falling over themselves to please the king. He hardly noticed, though, his attention focused solely on the sick young man in front of him. He pushed Frank’s sweat dampened hair from his eyes.

“The doctor will be here in the morning,” Michael said softly, handing Gerard a damp cloth. “Snow has begun to fall again, preventing him from accessing the palace grounds. Frank should be fine for the evening.”

Gerard nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll watch over him tonight; thank you for your help, brother.”

“Of course, Gerard. I hope he wakes soon.”

He didn’t hear Michael leave the room, but at some point he realized he was alone with Frank. He continued to pat at his brow, speaking with him softly, hoping he could hear him in his sleep.

*

A few hours later, as dawn began to break over the horizon, Frank’s eyelids finally fluttered open. He still felt uncomfortably warm, and his brow was soaked with sweat, as were his back and neck. Shifting uncomfortably in the too-warm bed, he made to remove his clothing when he realized there was someone next to him. Looking to his left, he found the king beside him, fast asleep in the clothes he’d warn the night before. He had yet to even remove his boots, and he was sprawled across the top of the bedding, looking rather angelic in his slumber.

Frank studied him for a moment longer, not wanting to disturb him. Though, he couldn’t help but smile, and reach out a weak hand to brush a long strand of black hair from the king’s eyes. He longed to curl up next to him, but the thought of taking on more body heat exhausted him, and he didn’t want the king to fall ill.

So he settled for well enough, watching the sunrise through heavy eyelids, the soft snow falling gently outside their windows. Never had he been so content to be ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts are always appreciated! Thank you all so much for being so supportive of this fic. <3


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